


started to want this and that (and that person)

by Sotong_sotong



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Budding feelings, Chance Meetings, Fluff and Humor, Getting to Know Each Other, Haikyuu!! Rare Pair Exchange 2017, M/M, Slice of Life, Trapped In Elevator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-04 19:14:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10287020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sotong_sotong/pseuds/Sotong_sotong
Summary: A chance encounter, along with shenanigans and the heart-to-hearts that ensue.





	1. shoes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mismoree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mismoree/gifts).



> Hello there! This is a gift written for Ellen ([oshouyou.tumblr.com](http://oisu.ga/)) in conjunction with the HQ Rarepair Exchange! Your prompts made me smile and I hope I'm able to do them justice! I'm posting this initial half first, and the other in a short bit later. Have a good day!

The first time Tooru sees his new neighbour, it is as the lift doors close and Tooru has settled against its walls, ready for the quiet that follows every climb up to the nineteenth floor where he’ll get off, whistling, swinging his apartment keys around a finger in tune to a particular television jingle that’s been terrorising the back of his mind lately— but, for today, for this one first time, a foot shoots out, last minute, and it jams the doors, halting them in their tracks.

A red Converse peeks through, sandwiched between the twin panels of metal; Tooru blinks at the tiny black curlicues dotted across its canvass. 

(He thinks they resemble the silhouettes of a cat, quite possibly in loaf.)

When the doors reverse, Tooru’s gaze travels up— past the shoe, and a stretch of jeans (tattered at the kneecaps) and a red plaid button-down— and comes face to face with someone who either has the coolest hairstyle he’s ever seen or the worst bedhead in existence: one part of his hair is matted down, perfectly normal, while the other spikes up as casually languid as it can be, like the long blades of weedy grass he used to watch sway in the wind along Miyagi’s outskirts.

Tooru doesn’t realise he’s staring until the guy clears his throat and bobs his head down in quick apology, finally stepping fully into the elevator. He smiles, somewhat sheepishly, and Tooru finds himself unintentionally mirroring it in some effort of cordiality. Politely, he gestures at the elevator’s button panel: _which floor do you want to go?_

“Ah,” the other lets out, as if only just realising he hadn’t pressed it on the way in, “ seventeenth, please.” He nods his thanks once Tooru does it for him, and adjusts the strap of the knapsack slung across one shoulder.

They fall silent after that, riding out the the faint hum of metallic whirring and occasional _dings!_ that litter the stillness between them.

(Tooru’s got his phone out, thumb idly scrolling through Twitter, but, really, he’s just using it as a front to sneak side glances at the newcomer, taking in his whole appearance again, particularly the red sneakers he wears and the patterns on them.)

“Like something you see?”

Tooru jerks, cursing himself for giving his facade away through his own dumb reaction, and rolls his eyes at the smirk the guy’s throwing at him. It’s far too smug (too knowing) for Tooru’s own liking, but he goes along with his question, anyway. “Your shoes.”

A raised eyebrow. “What about them?”

He huffs, almost petulantly, not very eager to reveal his curiosity. “Are their patterns supposed to be cats?”

The guy blinks at Tooru before breaking out his widest grin yet. It makes him look genuinely happy about the offhand observation, and Tooru wants to kick himself for inwardly getting drawn to it, for even noticing the little details in the first place. “They are! I doodled them on myself.”

Tooru tilts his head. “Using what?”

“A permanent sharpie, of course.” The boy shrugs. “I mean, there’s acrylic, but they get sort of messy if you don’t have steady hands.” He taps a finger to the side of his temple. “But, man, you’ve got really good eyes! Most people just think they’re random black spots, instead of cats.”

Flippant, Tooru waves off the compliment. “They’re just not looking hard enough, then.” The elevator’s screen lights up with a neon red _17_ , and he supposes this is where their random encounter will end. He keeps a finger on the entry button, holding the doors open for the elevator’s only other occupant. “Hey, it’s your floor.”

“Ah, thanks again.”

Right as the guy steps off, Tooru pipes up: “They’re cute, you know?”

He looks behind, taken aback. “Wha—“

“Your cats! They’re cute!” Tooru grins, beautific, as it is shit-eating, and waves goodbye as the doors slide forward, noting the rush of crimson that shoots up the sides of the stranger’s cheekbones with no greater amount of relish.

A barely audible and rather pouty _well, you’re cute too!_ makes its way through the jarring _clank_ of the doors being shut, and Tooru snorts, sounding fond even to himself.

(Which should be preposterous, considering how he’s only met him for all of the last five goddamned minutes, but whatever.)

He settles against the walls once more, mind already putting this meeting away for perusal later, focused on making a list of the things he needs to do at home shortly.

Only, that all goes to shit because before the lift could start ascending again, the doors yawn open: Mr. Cute Cat Shoes stumbles in, wheezing, rueful and apologetic when he says, “Sorry, that was the wrong floor!”

A beat, and another; Tooru tries so very hard to not burst into laughter. Instead, he plays it cool and ever so courteously inquires which floor he actually needs to be on. He’s only mildly surprised at this point when it turns out that the guy lives on the same floor as him, right across his apartment even.

(Fate likes to work sly like that, it seems.)

They step off together, and walk, like they’ve been fast old friends since forever, to their respective places. Tooru jams his keys into the doorjamb’s slot, pausing to look at his new neighbour struggling with his own gate’s lock. He clicks his tongue. “You never told me your name— yet.”

“My bad, my bad!” Mr. Neighbour with the Cute Cat Shoes chuckles. “The name’s Kuroo Tetsurou.” He lets out a huff of victory when he manages to unlock his gate, letting the joy of it colour the grin he shoots at Tooru. “And yours?”

“Just call me Oikawa-san. Till next time, Kuroo-kun!” And, with that, Tooru goes in and shuts his door.

(Until whatever next time will bring.)


	2. hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse all the hand-waving I did with the elevator scene here! Googling the procedures at 3am just boggled my brain even more so, here we are :'))

It becomes a sort of routine for them, then: bumping into each other at the elevator.

Sometimes, it’s Tooru who’s there first, waiting to head down for his morning classes , snickering whenever Kuroo comes by and groggily blinks at their surroundings, and sometimes it’s Kuroo, who yawns and rubs at his eyes, shuffling aside to leave room for Tooru when he comes out of his apartment, to commiserate over the chilly early hours beside him while they strain to hear an all too familiar chime.

They catch snatches of conversation about each other like this, and slowly, Tooru learns that:

 

a) Kuroo goes to _Geidai_ — Tokyo’s University of the Arts — and pursues Architecture. Kuroo says the workload’s hellish, but he believes it’ll pay off in the end, longsuffering as he swats away Tooru’s remarks concerning his ever darkening eyebags.

b) Kuroo really, really likes cats, would even keep a few at his apartment if pets were allowed, but since they aren’t, he makes do with lavishing attention onto the strays in the streets that saunter by to rub their heads against his ankle.

c) Kuroo used to play volleyball in high school as well.

 

It is in this particular instance that Tooru learns of that last bit of information:

He’s just bought dinner from the _konbini_ that’s two stones throws away from their block. He goes into the communal lift, tired from his day at Toudai, and expects a smooth trip up, but when Kuroo barrels past the closing doors at the very last moment, he’s reminded that, right, _routines_.

Tooru doesn’t say anything at first, merely stares on with eyes as dead as to how he feels inside once he notices that Kuroo has, yet again, pressed the wrong floor button. It’s actually kind of amusing, how Kuroo keeps mixing up floor numbers despite having lived there for two months now, and Tooru very firmly suppresses the smile that wants to sit upon his lips.

(It’s endearing, damn it.)

Kuroo glances around, waggling a hand in greeting when he sees Tooru. “Yo.”

Tooru inclines his head in return, and dutifully gets off when they reach the nineteenth floor. He smirks at Kuroo’s confused expression, but it’s too late for the other now; the elevator shuts before comprehension sets in, steadily taking him upwards. He weighs the pros and cons of beating a hasty retreat now against the temptation to see what Kuroo’s reaction will be when he comes down, and in the end, it’s an easy decision.

He waits. 

And the look on Kuroo’s face when he finally gets on the right floor again is truly worth it, despite the way Kuroo storms out and drags him back into the elevator and promptly presses every single floor button.

“Seriously?” Tooru snarks, low-key trying to hide the fact that his eyes are watering from laughing too much at Kuroo’s expense. “You’re gonna waste our time now?” He shakes his bag of bento boxes a little mutinously.

“Well, it serves you right then,” comes the dark reply. “You’ll just have to bear with the long haul!”

“Says the one who can never get his floor right,” he scoffs back, but there’s no real venom to it, just patient affection.

(Tooru doesn’t know where it’s come from or why it’s roosting in this one corner of his heart, just that it makes him look forward to being able to chat with Kuroo every day, no matter how brief.)

They lapse into silence for a bit, letting the elevator hum and stop, hum and stop, until it just doesn’t move anymore.

Tooru knocks his shoulder against Kuroo’s. “What’s up with _that_?”

He blinks at Tooru, then, at the lift doors. He blinks at Tooru again. “I…don’t know?”

“Wonderful.” Ignoring Kuroo’s put out expression, Tooru reaches to press the emergency buzzer; the intercom comes on and the the current technician on duty inquires of their situation, quickly assuring that his co-workers and him are looking into the problem immediately after Tooru’s done explaining what’s happened. Before hanging up, the man affirms he’ll be contacting them from time to time, to keep a check on their status.

Kuroo scuffs his shoe against the floor, hands in his pockets for lack of anything better to do. Little pulls of guilt tighten the line of his mouth, pooling into the crease between his eyebrows. “So, we’re stuck?”

(Tooru notes he’s wearing those red sneakers with the cat doodles again.)

He shrugs, matter-of-fact. “We are.” With that, he sits down and pulls Kuroo to settle on the floor as well. “Come on, continuously standing’s just gonnna hurt us in the long run.” All brisk and firm, Tooru splits the food he’s bought with Kuroo, insisting that he _must_ eat or he’ll stuff it down Kuroo’s mouth if he has to.

The threat cracks a rueful smile from the other, and between bites of onigiri and small sips of initially cold but currently lukewarm bottled green tea, the anxious air hovering over Kuroo lessens the slightest bit. He jerks his neck to crack it, loosening the muscles probably tensing underneath, and looks solemnly at Tooru. When he speaks, his tone is truly repentant. “I’m honestly so, _so_ sorry about this. I should have just kicked your ass outside the lift instead just now.”

Tooru barely prevents himself from choking on the milk bread he’s chewing. “ _You little shit_.”

“Hey now, I’m still three centimetres taller than you!” He laughs at the face Tooru pulls, but he sobers right after it. “But, yeah, I didn’t mean for all this to happen. I’m sorry.” A pause. “Again.”

(There’s a seriousness to Kuroo, lying beneath the casualness that tints his movements, beyond the gentle head scratches he gives to cats and the slow smugness that his grins always seem to exude; it’s there as long as you look hard enough, and perhaps, Tooru shouldn’t peer so often.)

The plastic wrapper that previously encased his milk bread becomes a ball in his fist. He throws it at Kuroo, tracking the way it bounces off his forehead, savouring the _tch_ Kuroo lets out, and grabs the wrapper before it rolls too far away. “I know, I know, the great Oikawa-san forgives you!”

“The great Oikawa-san is also surprisingly calm over this whole thing. What gives?”

(What Kuroo means: _Aren’t you worried too?_ )

“Nothing much. Whatever happens, will happen, and whatever will not, won’t.” Flashes of the past flit back and forth, here and there, beacons of memories of a younger, slightly more foolish time when he used to overthink himself into endless circles. He’s beyond them now. “Wanna play truth or dare?”

“Sure, anything to kill the damn time.” Kuroo’s eyes gleam, always game for the possible attainment of blackmail.

“I’ll go first then. Truth or dare?”

“Hmmm— dare.”

Tooru squints at the bag Kuroo’s laid beside himself. “Do you have your markers in there?” He nods, satisfied, when Kuroo says _yeah, why?_ “I dare you to draw something on my shoes.

Kuroo grins, grits out a _no fucking problem_ as he rummages through the bag to grab at his stationary case, and proceeds to trace small crowns all over Tooru’s shoes, fingers tapping Tooru’s arm as a sign to relax whenever Tooru’s feet begin to fidget. He comes up with a flourish once he’s done. “There we go. What do you think?”

Taking in the variously shaped crowns drawn all over his shoes, Tooru smiles. “They’re cute. Just like your cats.”

One of Kuroo’s sneakers nudges the back of his. “That’s nice. Where’s my thanks?” He accepts the onigiri that Tooru passes to him appreciatively. “Okay, your turn. Truth; do you play volleyball?”

That catches Tooru off guard; he hums ponderingly for three seconds before answering, “I _used_ to.”

“Well, shit. I _used_ to, too. Was my school’s captain, even.” 

“Yeah, me too.”

Kuroo’s lips twist wistfully. His eyes seem far off, recalling his high school days most likely. “Those were the day, weren’t they?”

“ _Please_ ,” comes Tooru’s snort. “Don’t make us sound like old men. My turn. Truth.”

Kuroo grunts his assent.

“How did you know I played volleyball?”

“About that—,” Kuroo fiddles with his shoelaces, glancing at Tooru before continuing, “it’s the way your hands move. They’re sort of fluid, y’know, precise too, like a setter’s.”

Tooru takes a minute or two to process this information. Then, he stares into Kuroo’s eyes, holding sight even as Kuroo’s eyebrows start jumping in an effort to ditch him off; stoically, he says: “Is that why you keep pressing the wrong floor button? So that I’d keep correcting you, and indirectly, let you stare at my hands whenever I press the right one instead?”

Kuroo’s ensuing splutters and attempts to throttle Tooru are aborted when the elevator suddenly jolts, humming back to life. The intercom crackles: ,i>hey, we got the thing running again, please leave as soon as the doors open at the next floor, alright?

“Thank fuck,” Kuroo breathes, shoving everything back into his bag again. Tooru follows suit, packing his food into the _konbini’s_ plastic bag, and straightens himself.

The doors, thankfully, do open at the following floor, and to their immense luck, it’s theirs. Despite having spent the better part of the last hour being trapped inside an elevator, they amble through the hallways, lazy.

(As if they’re reluctant to part for the night.)

“So.” Kuroo stops at his doorway and quirks a rueful smile at Tooru. The darkness dimming the area hides some angles of his face, and Tooru’s heart twitches for one single irrational moment. “That was an Experience.”

“Not meant to be repeated,” Tooru tacks on, just to be dour, and jiggles his keys as musical emphasis. He looks at his shoes, at Kuroo’s handiwork, barely visible in the current lighting. He sighs. “I guess it’s good night, then. Till next time—“

“Wanna hang out or something tomorrow?” Kuroo blurts out. Tooru isn’t even irritated that he’s gotten cut off so abruptly like that once he understands what Kuroo’s asking of him. “It was good, talking to you and all earlier, and for something’s sake, we’re _neighbours_. We should hang out more.”

(I want to get to know you more.) 

Tooru grins, feeling relieved over something he doesn’t think needs to be named yet. “Sure. I’m free after 5pm, so we can do dinner. ” 

“Nice.” Kuroo grins just as widely back. “I’ll come knock your door.” 

“I’ll let you stare as much you want at my hands if you’re paying, Kuroo-kun!” 

And, with that, Tooru goes in and shuts his door to the echoes Kuroo’s flustered groans of _you’ll never let let me live that down, will you?_

( _Until whatever tomorrow and their other-other-next-times will bring_ , the back of his mind sings.) 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
